


Strikes One Through Three

by Daxiefraxie



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Angst, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, goro did many things wrong and i still love him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-05-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:26:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24245740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daxiefraxie/pseuds/Daxiefraxie
Summary: “I’m a murderer,” he decided. “I’m the monster that will kill my father, one day.” And a dark voice named Loki whispered a blood oath in his ear.Angsty oneshot of Akechi's perspective on matters, from his first experience with the Metaverse to his last.Content warnings for implied self-harm, suicide and abuse.
Kudos: 26





	Strikes One Through Three

Akechi hadn't meant any of this to happen. An angry rant in his room about a teacher who'd pissed him off, and he was thrown headfirst into the hell that was the rest of his life.

He was fifteen, stuck in some asshole's heart, trying very hard not to die. No one to save him and no one but himself to fight for. That’s when he awakened to Robin Hood. That’s when he retaliated with all his strength against the Palace Ruler and cut him down.

He hadn't meant to kill him. He was scared. Desperate. He hadn't meant for any of this to happen.

*

“I caused the mental shutdown.” Akechi expected that statement to leave his lips as a threat. Like a loaded gun, pointed directly at the bald bastard’s shiny head. He didn’t expect Shido to smile. He didn’t expect Shido to offer a cooperation; Akechi cause mental shutdowns for him, and Shido would give the boy whatever he wished. What he wished was to cut Shido’s throat. But, armed guards on either side, Akechi decided to bide his time.

*

It felt wrong, killing. “Self defense” could only carry so far of a justification. It was sickening. But Akechi powered through. "Whatever it took," he said to himself, "whatever I need to do to kill Shido. I’ll do it."

“Kill an innocent woman,” Shido ordered, “and make her child an orphan.”

And all Akechi could think to say was “yes.”

In Wakaba’s Palace, he contemplated surrender. He contemplated a hundred-foot fall off the edge of an inverted cognitive pyramid. 

Was this justice? Was this revenge? Was he acting, in any way, like the hero he had once sought to be? Shido was evil, and it would be good to kill him. But what was Akechi? The coward who waited for his opportunity, the gunman who refused to take the shot? What was he?

“I’m a murderer,” he decided. “I’m the monster that will kill my father, one day.” And a dark voice named Loki whispered a blood oath in his ear.

Maybe Akechi apologized. He couldn’t remember much about that day. But he could remember the smell of sulfur. He could remember the laughter. He could remember wanting to tear his own heart out of his chest.

*

He imagined killing Shido. Over and over. Closed his eyes and visualized the scene in graphic detail. Maybe tomorrow, he thought. Maybe I’ll simply go into his Palace and tear our his heart. If it feels right, I’ll kill him.

It never felt right. It never felt opportune. It never felt safe.

*

He dreamed he was a solider, once. Killing for a bald general. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I’ll make it quick. I’m sorry.”

This time, tic the first against his life. Strike one. Blood down the drain.

*

On TV, he learned to wear long sleeves, long pants, long socks. To wear black gloves and an innocent smile. To cover up what he didn’t want them to see. To cover up the red on his hands, the stain that wouldn’t wash out.

*

Mocking Ren was entertaining. Satisfying. The Phantom Thieves’ leader had a spark of defiance, to be sure, but he rarely retaliated. Ren seemed to take Akechi’s prodding in stride, give barely more than a furrowed eyebrow or sharp remark in response. It was almost fun, if Akechi could have had fun anymore. If the ash in his chest could beat at all.

*

The weather was good. He was resting after a long day of recording when Shido called. “You did excellent work,” he said. “Quick and efficient, I’ve learned to expect that of you. Well done, Akechi.”

Tic the second against his life. Strike two. Blood down the drain.

*

Wakaba’s daughter was afraid of him. She couldn’t have known, obviously, there was no way she could have known. But she was afraid of him.

“It seems I’m unwelcome no matter where I go,” he joked.

And Ren’s cold stare broke his resolve. Broke the dam in his throat.

Akechi said far more than he meant. Covered it up as best as he could, changed the subject, dragged their attention back towards other matters.

But he saw something in Ren’s eyes that drove some shard of agony into his chest. Some glint of tears, maybe. It looked almost like Ren wanted to apologize. Wanted to say something else. Some sort of empathy, or kindness.

Akechi would rather die than hear it.

*

He made himself busy. It helped to be distracted. He read in the Palaces, outdated philosophy and novels far too articulate to be entertaining. Something to cover up the taste, the smell, the awful churning feeling in his gut.

Akechi supposed he played the monster as well as the prince. Maybe, one day, he’d show everyone that side of him. His face – his real face, he decided – contorted with fury and vindication, dotted with crimson. Maybe he'd be comfortable with dying, then. Maybe he could finally give up.

*

Ren was his out after all others had been exhausted. His absolution, maybe. Better to die than continue on. To let the softspoken trickster cut Akechi’s throat along with his strings. He wouldn’t give Shido the satisfaction of pulling the trigger. Not Shido. And not himself.

But Ren wouldn’t. Of course he wouldn’t. Too weak...or too kind. He wouldn’t kill Akechi. He wouldn’t kill his friend.

“Promise me,” he said. Alone. Cut off. “Promise me you’ll take his heart.”

And Ren promised.

Tic the third against Akechi’s life.

Tic.

Tic.

Tic.

And strike three never came. Blinding white lights. The soft smell of chemical compounds. A quiet voice, sober beyond sobriety. Blood down the drain.

**Author's Note:**

> My good friend [Jane](https://lilyhoshikawa.tumblr.com/) asked me if I had any Akechi headcanons to try and cheer me up after my rough day today. And this mess of angst sprung, fully formed, from my aching head.
> 
> If you want to see less angsty content, you'll find it [on my Persona 5 sideblog.](https://between-two-masks.tumblr.com/)


End file.
